


Speak

by littlemisskookie



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Photographer, Angst, F/M, Suicide, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisskookie/pseuds/littlemisskookie
Summary: If only it was said out loud.





	Speak

You would’ve never known the true meaning of defining silence if it weren’t for Namjoon. It consumed you, washing your senses until you went numb, unable to so much as move out of bed for days. You could only relive the memories you had with him before it all came crashing down around you.

-

The two of you oddly enough met at a carnival. It was visiting your bleak and boring town as it always does, one time each year to give everyone a reason  _not_  to zip on over to the next meaningless place. With poorly constructed rides and overpriced junk food, you were surrounded with the aesthetic of orange light pouring over the horizons and the structures starting to dim into silhouettes, and you wanted to go to the top of the Ferris wheel to see the landscape. You knew it’d be absolutely stunning.

You were with a friend, anxiously waiting in line, hoping that you’d be able to get on the ride before the sunset. Your friend was also very anxious, though for a very different reason. She was squirming, her hand tucked between her thighs in a very un-ladylike fashion, hopping on one foot to the other.

“Y/N, can we  _please_  go to the restroom?” your friend urged, her eyes large and pleading.

Considering the fact you didn’t want to spend the few minutes in harmony with a girl who peed on the seat, you knew you couldn’t force her to stay with you. Still, you were frustrated. “I asked you earlier if you needed to go, and you said no. We’re almost at the ride!”

“Y/N!” Irene pleaded. “Do you really want to be in a cart filled with piss?”

You grimaced in distaste. “Blech, go already! But be quick, we’re close to the wheel.”

“Bye!” Without another word, your friend zoomed on by. Minutes passed, and you were tapping your foot anxiously waiting for your friend, your tongue prodding at your inner cheek in impatience. You were at the front of the line.

“How many?” the man asked, not even bothering to look up, too consumed with tapping away at his phone.

“Single,” you sighed, knowing it was too late for your friend.

“Let’s see whether or not we can get you a partner. We need to shorten the line,” the man grumbled. “Any singles?”

You turned back to see one hand shoot up above the others. The man glanced up, and made a motion with his hand, curling his fingers to beckon the person forward. You would’ve preferred to stay by yourself, but you weren’t going to make a scene. Especially as you spied the man coming forward, someone near six feet, with a bright grin and dashing proportions. Dazzling.

“You two,” the man grumbled, pulling on a lever as one of the carts stopped, revealing it to be empty. “Climb in.”

You climbed on, the handsome man trailing after you. You noticed the bulky camera hanging around his neck. A photographer. Sexy.

It wasn’t until you finally got to the very top that you could see how the sunlight shone in, seeping past crevices and illuminating the crowded area, shrouding it in heavenly light. Truly astonishing, though it was a pity no one else would notice. You smiled to yourself, letting your eyes roam from how it hit each item at different angles, giving them a certain glow you knew would be hard to attain.

“You know, this is what we call the ‘golden hour’,” the man beside you said. You turned your head to him, noticing how he was taking pictures of the very items you found yourself admiring. “It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?”

“Stunning,” you smiled, agreeing. “No one else seems to notice, sadly.”

“That’s a pity,” he nodded, taking down the camera to look at you fully. His eyes seemed to shine as brightly as the sunlight. “Though I guess it’s only the artists who truly have an eye for beauty.”

You found yourself grinning at his words, choosing to take it as a compliment. You eyed the camera, finding it a very high quality. “I take it you’re a photographer?”

“I’m trying to be,” he smiled. “Majoring in it, in fact.”

“I’ve always admired photographers,” you said. “Talented ones always have such a fresh perspective on the most simple things. They manage to make something so typically plain intricate and seem to find the meaning behind it. The good ones do, at least. Not each photo is in depth.”

“Tell me about it,” he rolled his eyes. “They’ll scroll through different pictures that could pass for an Instagram post, but it’s not art. Art actually has layers.”

“It’s what’s more than what meets the eye,” you smiled. “Art’s hard to come by.”

You found yourself leaning on the railing again, looking down at the passengers below as they strolled along. You were surprised, though, when you heard a click, turning to find the camera pointed directly at you as you stared into the lenses. You were surprised, staring at the stranger.

“What was that for?”

“Well,” he said, putting down the camera to look at the product. “You said yourself, art’s hard to come by. So I shouldn’t waste the time I have with a masterpiece, now should I?”

Your cheeks flamed red at his words. “Mr. Smooth, are you now?”

He grinned at you, “I can be.”

You laughed at the comment, “Well, stranger, why don’t you tell me your name?”

“Namjoon,” he commented. “But you can call me anytime.”

You laughed again, grinning wildly. “Now you’re just cheesy.”

“You’re right, I should’ve just stuck with the masterpiece thing.”

“I’ll say,” you shook your head, laughing to yourself.

“And your name?”

You quirked a brow at him, but in that moment you felt as though you truly could trust him. “Y/N,” you said, saying it with a wink. “And you can call me yours.”

* * *

It’s safe to say you saw Namjoon again after that. A lot more often. From coffee dates to scary movies, you and your new found boyfriend were spending a lot of time together. There was one date, however, that you would never forget. The two of you were walking through a museum, looking at different photographs hanging on the walls, perched to be admired by any that happened to walk past.

You admired Namjoon’s way with words. He was always so philosophical, so careful in choosing what he wanted to say. Your boyfriend had such a way of thinking, it made everything seem dimmer in comparison.

“I like this one,” Namjoon said briskly, the two of you staring at a photo. “I think it represents individuality. How someone can be many things at once without fitting into a particular stereotype. Instead of simply having things that contrast, they have things that help make up a person’s interests, with the ballet shoes and the softball and such. There’s truly no such thing as opposites when it comes to people. It’s simply what you want to portray yourself as, and how it contrasts with another’s facade, but in reality, there are layers to all that can match up.”

He stared at you, quirking a brow. “What’s your interpretation?”

“I was going to say the phases through childhood the typical girl has to go through,” you said. “But I like your observation better.”

He smiled, shrugging. “To each his own.”

It was fascinating, really. Seeing how he interpreted different pictures, looking at the models and the lighting and how it could have meaning. Hell, the photographer might’ve just taken a picture on his stroll, but Namjoon saw things so much deeper than anyone else you’ve met. Namjoon struggled when it came to letting out his thoughts, but in that moment, when discussing something he was so passionately about, you felt as though you finally understood a piece of him.

* * *

Things weren’t perfect, though. There was a particular night that seemed to take a turn. You went into Namjoon’s dorm, as usual, seeing him lying down on his bed. You were grinning as usual when you saw him, already about a good year into the relationship.

“Hey Namjoon, I was hoping we would go for a walk later. We haven’t been able to see each other as often- and I know you’re busy and I am too with our jobs and social lives and whatever. And I know this is late with no notice, but I was figuring we’d take your camera and take photos while we stroll. There are some pretty interesting depictions in the park I think you’d like, actually.”

You turned to him, looking at the beanie that covered the expanse of his head. “Namjoon?”

“Yeah, I… threw away my camera.”

You stood still, comprehending what he was saying. He loved that camera. It was his life. “Did it break or something?” you asked him, your tone questioning.

“…something like that.” His finger moved over to point at the trashcan. You walked towards it, seeing bits and pieces smashed or broken, the metal bent and broken beyond prepare. You grimaced.

“God, I’m so sorry… we can buy you a new one if you want,” you offered. “I can use the spare money I make to save up, and we’ll get you that new model I’ve noticed you eyeing at the mall. I was planning to get you it for Christmas, but a few months early can’t hu-”

“No, it’s fine Y/N,” Namjoon sighed, getting up. “I… I’m quitting photography.”

“What?” you gasped. Wow, way to be dramatic. “But you love photography!”

“Loved,” Namjoon corrected, staring down at his feet. “There’s… there’s just so many people out there doing it, what’s the point? I’m not going to make any money off of it, and I could be doing something that at least secures my standing…”

“Namjoon, don’t talk like that. Of course, you have a chance! You’re so talented-”

“I’ve already made up my mind,” Namjoon interrupted, staring at you. “I’m quitting.”

You pressed your lips together in a firm line, knowing he wouldn’t be willing to budge. He was serious about this. “If that’s what you want, sure. I’ll support you every step. I don’t think it’s too late to start studying something new… you’re smart. You’ll figure something out.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon said, a relieved smile on his face. He got up, taking you in his arms to press a chaste kiss on your lips.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as you stared at him lovingly. “We can still go on that walk… anything else you want to tell me?”

A look of guilt washed over his face, one with a flustered expression and red cheeks. “There’s… one more thing,” he murmured, reaching back to tug off the beanie. You gasped as you stared at his head, all of his hair now shaven off into a buzz.

“W…Wow?” you stumbled, unsure what to say. “I… It’s… different. Good different!”

Namjoon looked at you seriously. “You don’t have to comfort or lie to me, you know.”

Your mouth went small as you stared at his hair. “You look like an egg.”

He laughed, pouting at you. “No! Not that honest!”

You laughed too, shaking your head. “No no! Don’t worry, my opinion doesn’t matter. What matters is  _you_  like it! Besides, worse case scenario, and it’ll grow back.”

He pecked your cheek, his eyes twinkling at you with delight. “You know just what to say.”

Apparently not. But you only blamed yourself for not seeing the signs that night.

* * *

Irene entered your room, her expression serious. “Hey,” she said, her voice soft.

“Hey,” you greeted back, your voice hollow and hard.

“Are you doing… better?”

“No.”

“Fair enough,” she sighed, looking down. “I know you’re still not yourself, and you need time. It hurts you the most, I know. I was thinking we’d visit him today? We don’t have to if you don’t want, but I thought it might help.”

You looked up at her, unsure what to think. “I’d like that.”

The car ride was filled with a song that sounded like a lullaby, but you didn’t hear it. Instead, you were silent, reliving memories in your head until you rolled up to the cemetery. It wasn’t bleak or gloomy or dark. It was cheerful, with green grass and bright, fake flowers. Underneath one of the fresh batches of dirt, in a fresh grave, lied your boyfriend.

You placed the flower on his grave, reading the tombstone in your head. He didn’t live long enough. He should’ve lived old enough where he could see his grandchildren and such. He decided instead to end it early with a gun shoved down his throat.

Tears pricked at your eyes. Why was it each time you came here you started bawling your eyes? Probably over what might have been. Probably over what passed. You didn’t know.

Irene rubbed your back softly as you squatted by the grave, crouched over as tears slowly started morphing into rivers that cascaded down your cheeks. You were so tired, reliving the cycle. Eat, sleep, cry, eat, sleep, cry, eat, sleep, cry-

“I’m sorry we can’t bring him back,” Irene spoke softly. “He loved you though. He loved you so much.”

“If he loved me so much, why did he leave?” you said in broken sobs. “If he loved me, why didn’t he say what he meant out loud? Why did he leave me in the dark, without letting me know what he was feeling?”

“Sometimes we’re so scared of hurting others, we hurt ourselves more,” Irene said. “It’s a twisted cycle. Let it out and hurt others, or keep it in and hurt yourself. I guess he didn’t want to burden you. I guess he was scared.”

You sniffed, staring at the tomb. “Did I love him enough, Irene?”

“You clearly did- do. You clearly do, Y/N. No one thinks differently. I’m sure he knew.”

You wiped away tears, “I miss him so much. I wish he were here now.”

Irene crouched down beside you, rubbing your shoulder to console you. “I know, Y/N. I know. I’m sure he misses you too.”

You stared at her, her eyes full of sympathy. You threw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her to clutch at her shirt, crying into her shoulder over what might’ve been. But you knew he was yours, and you were his. And even after this, somehow, some way, you’d find a way to continue seeing the beauty in the world that he managed to bring to life.


End file.
